The Heiress Bride (20 page)

She sighed and rolled onto her back. It was then she heard the noise. She cracked an eye open and stared off into the darkness in the direction of the noise. It was just a very low scratching sort of noise. She must have imagined it. It was a very old house. All old structures had strange, unexplained shudders and sounds. She closed her eyes and snuggled down.

The noise came again, a bit louder this time. Scratching, as if something were trapped in the wainscoting. A rat? She didn't like that thought.

It stopped yet again but Sinjun was tense, waiting for it to resume.

It did, louder now. There was another sound with the scratching. Behind it, sort of. It sounded like something dragging along the floor. Something like a chain, heavy and slow, dragging across a wooden floor but oddly muffled.

Sinjun bolted up in bed. This was absurd!

Then there was a moan, distinct, sharp, a human moan that made gooseflesh rise on her arms. Her heart pounded. She strained to see in the darkness.

She had to light the candle. She reached out toward the night table to grab the lucifer matches, but she knocked them to the floor instead.

The moans stopped suddenly, as did the scratching. But the chain, dragging slowly, was louder now, and it was coming closer, still muffled, but it was coming, closer. It was in the bedchamber now.

Sinjun knew such terror she very nearly screamed. But the scream stuck in her throat. There was now a flicker of a light coming from
the far corner of the bedchamber. Just a flicker of very white light, almost like smoke, because it was thin and vague, too. She stared at that light and knew such fear she nearly swallowed her own tongue.

The moans came again, and suddenly the chain slapped hard against something or someone. There was a cry, as if it were indeed a person the chain had struck.

Oh Jesus, she thought. She couldn't just sit here trembling like a twit. She didn't want to, but she forced herself to slither off the bed. She fumbled to find the matches. They'd slid somewhere and she couldn't find them. She was on her hands and knees when the moan came again, sharp and loud and filled with pain.

She paused. Then, still on her hands and knees, she crawled toward the end of the dais. She kept close to the floor. When she reached the end of the dais, she peered about the edge. There in the far corner the light burned more brightly. And the look of it was so very strange, so floaty and vague, yet so white.

Suddenly there was a horrible scream. Sinjun nearly leaped to her feet to run from the bedchamber. The hair lifted off her neck. She was shaking with cold terror.

Just as suddenly, the light was gone. The corner of the room was perfectly black again. There were no more moans.

She waited, so cold now she was shaking from that and not fear. She waited and waited, nerves stretched to the limit.

Nothing. No more scratching, nothing more.

Slowly, Sinjun reached up and pulled the covers down to the floor. She wrapped herself in them and curled against the dais. Finally she fell asleep.

It was Mrs. Seton who found her the next morning. Sinjun cocked open an eye to see the lady standing over her, saying over and over, “Oh, och! Ye're hurt, my lady! Oh, och!”

Sinjun was sore and all stiff from her hours on the hard floor, but she wasn't hurt. “Mrs. Seton, ah, please help me up. Yes, thank you. I had this dream, you see, a hideous nightmare actually, and it frightened me so I curled up down here.”

Mrs. Seton merely arched one of those tremendously thick black brows at her and assisted her to her feet.

“I'll be fine now. If Emma could fetch some water for a bath, I'll be downstairs soon.”

Mrs. Seton nodded and walked toward the door of the bedchamber, only to draw up short and stare at the floor. “Och, what is this, pray?”

It was the far corner of the bedchamber.

“What is what?” Sinjun's voice sounded creaky and harsh.

“This,” Mrs. Seton said, pointing to the floor. “It looks like some sort of ooze from the Cowal Swamp, all black and smelly and thick. Och, there are even wee lumps of—” Her voice broke off and she stepped back. “My mither always said it takes a lang spoon tae sup wi' the devil.”

Mrs. Seton, who normally spoke the loveliest English, had fallen into a very thick Scottish brogue.

She got hold of herself in short order, however, and said thoughtfully, “However did it get here? Goodness, the swamp isn't all that close to Vere Castle.” She gave Sinjun an odd look, then shrugged. “No matter. I'll send someone to clean up the mess.”

Sinjun didn't want to see the mess up close, but she did. It was disgusting, as if something or someone had ladled out some of the filth onto the floor—
that . . . or dragged it in, perhaps with a chain.

It was really quite well done of them, she thought as she stepped into her bath. Really quite well done.

S
INJUN MADE HER
way around four local men yelling at one another in a language that wasn't at all English. They'd lowered the huge chandelier, replaced the dangerously rusted chain, and were now cleaning off the years of filth before the women began to wash all the crystal.

She spoke to them, smiled, and continued on her way to the smaller dining room, which was called the Laird's Inbetween Room. She drew to a halt to see Aunt Arleth berating a serving woman who was on her hands and knees in the massive Tudor entrance hall, scrubbing the marble squares.

“I won't have it, Annie! Get up and get out of here!”

“What is the problem?” Sinjun asked calmly.

Aunt Arleth whirled on her. “I don't approve of this, any of it, my girl. Now look what she's doing! Those squares have been as they were for years upon years.”

“Yes, and so filthy, poor Annie must have pads on her knees she's been scrubbing so long.”

“I told you that you didn't belong, young lady, and I meant it. And now you have the gall to spend the laird's money for this sort of nonsense.”

“Oh no,” Sinjun said, smiling. “It's all my money, I promise you.”

“I think it looks nice, Aunt.”

Serena, looking even more like a princess who'd lost her bearings than the last time Sinjun had seen her, floated down the wide staircase and into the entrance hall wearing a soft pale blue silk gown.

“What would you know? You, who do nothing but take and take. Just look at you! You're daft!”

“Look at what, Aunt? I look beautiful. Mirrors don't lie. You're old, so I understand that you would be jealous. Now, dear Joan, how may I be of service?”

“Well, that is very kind of you, Serena. Why don't you come into the Laird's Inbetween Room now and we'll discuss it over breakfast.”

“Oh, I don't wish breakfast now. I believe I will pick some purple thistle, it's the emblem of Scotland, you know.”

“No, I didn't know.”

“Oh yes. It seems that some Vikings came ashore to rape and plunder, but one of them stepped on a bed of thistles and cried out in pain. It alerted all the native Gaels, and they were able to escape the enemy.”

“Silly nonsense,” said Aunt Arleth. She added under her breath, “Why don't you go sit under a rowan tree?”

“That is unkind, Aunt. Even if I did, nothing would happen. I become stronger by the day. I'm a witch, you know, Joan, but a good witch. I will speak to you later, Joan.”

She floated through the massive front doors, humming softly to herself.

“What's a rowan tree?” Sinjun asked.

She heard Annie suck in her breath.

“Just never you mind.”

“Very well. You will kindly leave Annie alone, Aunt Arleth. Should you like to have breakfast with me?”

“I will rid this place of you,” Aunt Arleth said in the meanest voice Sinjun had ever heard. Then she turned on her heel and walked quickly from the entrance hall, not outside, as Serena had done, but upstairs. Now what was upstairs for her to ruin? Nothing, Sinjun thought, relieved.

“When you're tired, Annie, please stretch your legs and go to the kitchen. Cook has made big urns of coffee and tea for everyone, and I do believe there's also a grand tray of broonies.” Sinjun rolled her tongue as she said the name of those tasty little oatmeal gingerbread biscuits.

“Thankee, m'lady.”

Sinjun smiled, hearing the carpenters working on the stairs. After all the main stairs were repaired, the railings sound again, they would continue to repair the stairs that surrounded the minstrel's gallery. Then it was onward to the stairs in the north tower. All was proceeding apace. Sinjun felt quite pleased with herself.

She went into the Laird's Inbetween Room and was delighted to see Dulcie seated between Philip and Dahling.

“Good morning, Dulcie, children.”

Dulcie said, “Good morning to ye, m'lady. Philip, dinna frown like that, it'll put creases in yer forehead fer all yer lifetime, ye ken? Dahling, stop smearing yer eggs on th' tablecloth!”

Another normal breakfast, Sinjun thought, remembering the breakfasts with all of Ryder's children. Bedlam, sheer and utter bedlam.

She served herself from the sideboard and sat down in Colin's chair, since it was closest to the children.

“That's Papa's chair.”

“Yes, and it's a very nicely carved chair. It's even big enough for him.”

“You don't belong there.”

“You don't belong
here,
” Dahling added.

“But I'm your father's wife. Where do I belong if not here, at Vere Castle?”

That stumped Dahling, but not Philip.

“Now that Papa has your money, you could go to a convent.”

“Master Philip!”

“But I'm not Catholic, Philip. What would I do there? I don't know anything about crucifixes or matins or confessions.”

“What's matins?”

“Prayers said at midnight or at dawn, Dahling.”

“Oh. Go to France and be the queen.”

“That's quite good, Dahling, but unfortunately there isn't a queen of France at the moment, there's just Empress Josephine, Napoléon's wife.”

Both children were at an impasse. “This is delicious porridge. The fresh oatmeal makes all the difference. I love it with brown sugar.”

“It's better with a knob of butter,” Philip said.

“Oh, really? Then I will try it with a knob of butter tomorrow.” She took the last spoonful, sighed with pleasure, took a sip of her coffee, and announced, “I have worked very hard for the past three days. This morning I have decided to reward myself, and you will be the rewards. You will go riding with me and show me around.”

“My tummy hurts,” Dahling said, grabbed her middle, and began to groan.

“Then 'tis buckbean ye be needing, Dahling.”

“I'll ride with you,” Philip said. Sinjun caught the evil wink he gave to his sister.

* * *

It took Philip less than two hours to get her lost in the Lomond Hills. It took Sinjun another three hours to find her way back to the castle. However, the morning wasn't a waste by any means. She'd met five crofters' families and drunk five different ciders. She found one man who could write—Freskin was his name—and thus he had a quill and some foolscap. She began to list all their names and what needed to be done in repairs. They had little grain, and nothing could keep the fear from Freskin's wife's face when he said it. They needed a cow and a couple of sheep; ah, but it was grain that was most important.

If any of the men, women, or children believed it a pitiful state of affairs for her that she was here only because of her healthy stock of groats, they were polite enough not to say so. Sinjun began to understand more and more of the local dialect. It was either that or drown in lilting sounds. A sweetie wife, she learned, meant a gossip. Freskin's wife was certainly a sweetie.

Since the day was beautiful, she let her mare canter over the soft rolling hills and through the forests of larch, pine, birch, and fir. She drank from her cupped hands from Loch Leven. The water was so cold it made her lips tingle. She let her horse wander through a clump of fir trees and nearly stumbled into a peat bog. She held her mare to a walk over the harsh barren moors of the eastern hills. All in all, when she returned to Vere Castle she was tired and had quite enjoyed herself.

She paused atop the rise she and Colin had halted at such a short time before. Vere Castle still looked magical, perhaps even more so now that she felt a part of it. She reminded herself to purchase some material to make pennants to fly from those four
castle towers. Perhaps she could even find a lovely young girl with golden hair to sit in one of the tower windows and plait and unplait her hair.

She was singing when she espied Philip, surely on the lookout for her, near the massive Tudor front doors.

“Why, Master Philip, what a fine chase you led me! Goodness, you did best me, didn't you? You just wait until I take you with me to visit my home in southern England. I'll get you lost in the maple woods. But I will leave a trail of bread crumbs for you to follow home.”

“I knew you'd come back.”

“Yes, naturally. I live here.”

Philip kicked a pebble with a very worn shoe. “I'll do better next time.”

She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. She grinned and ruffled his beautiful thick black hair—his father's hair. “I have no doubt you will try to do better, but listen, Philip. I am here to stay, you know. Best accustom yourself, don't you think?”

“Dahling's right. You are ugly.”

 

Sinjun was lying in her bed, wide awake, staring up at the black ceiling. It had been well over a week now, and still no word from Colin. She was worried; no, she was angry. The Tudor rooms were all immaculate and nearly all her two hundred pounds were gone. She was tempted to go to Edinburgh, not just to track down her husband but to get more funds. The people who were working for her surely deserved money for their efforts, not promises.

The carpenters were ready to move on to Colin's north tower. Perhaps she should wait; perhaps she should allow him to oversee the work. No, damn him. He didn't deserve the fun. She turned on her side, then flopped again onto her back and sighed.

She'd had her first visitors today, a local viscount and his wife, and they had come to see the heiress who'd saved the laird's hide.

She chanced to hear Aunt Arleth say, “ 'Tis a mighty burden for all of us, Louisa. She might be an heiress, but she's most ill-bred and has no respect for her betters. She pays me no heed at all, ordering everyone about, she does.”

Sir Hector MacBean had been looking about him with growing appreciation and no little astonishment. “I fancy her orders have accomplished a great deal, Arleth. The place smells positively clean. Louisa, just look up at the chandelier. I vow I used to fear walking beneath that monstrosity. Now it sparkles and it looks to have a new chain holding it up.”

And that, Sinjun thought, arranging the skirts of the only gown left to her, was her cue to enter, which she did, all smiles.

The visit had gone off nicely. Philpot, attired in his new uniform of stark black and white, served Cook's clootie dumplings, surely the most delicious dish in all the world. He was as regal as King George III on one of his better days, and just as frigidly polite.

Aunt Arleth looked ready to spit. Sinjun had offered her a clootie dumpling, saying, “The custard sauce Cook makes defies description. Isn't it delicious, Aunt?”

Aunt Arleth was stuck. She could but nod.

The MacBeans were pleasant and appeared sincerely fond of Colin. When they were on the point of leaving, Lady Louisa smiled at Sinjun, patted her arm, and said in a low voice, “You seem a very competent girl. There is much here at Vere Castle that is odd, and all those damnable rumors, of course, but I fancy that you will bring things aright and
ignore the talk, for it is nonsense naturally.”

Whatever that meant, Sinjun thought, thanking the woman.

She remained on the front steps to wave them away. Aunt Arleth said, “You think you're so much better than the rest of us. Well, I daresay that Louisa saw through you. She will tell everyone that you are a mushroom, a no-account upstart that—”

“Aunt Arleth, I'm the daughter of an earl. If that makes me a mushroom, then you have need of further education. You will cease your diatribes. I have much to do.” She turned, not giving Arleth a chance to say more. “Dahling! Come here, sweeting, we have a gown to fit on you.”

The night before there had been a snake in Sinjun's bed: long and black and slithering frantically about, trying to hide. She'd blinked, then smiled. Wrapping it gently around her arm, she had carried the poor snake downstairs and let it escape into the overgrown gardens.

She wondered what they would do this night. She hadn't long to wait. It turned out to be a repeat of the first hoary ghost performance. They were quite talented actually, and Sinjun, smiling into the darkness, said aloud in a quavery voice, “Oh dear, not you again. Leave me, O Spirit, please leave me.”

The spirit departed shortly thereafter, and Sinjun would have sworn she heard a soft giggle.

 

Colin called out her name even as he strode up the well-indented stone steps of the castle.

“Joan!”

It was Philip and Dahling who greeted him, Dahling flinging her arms about his leg, crying that Sinjun was mean and nasty and ugly and utterly cruel.

As for Philip, he kept still. Colin hugged both his children and asked them where Joan was.

“Joan?” Philip said blankly. “Oh, her. She's everywhere at once. She does everything. She won't let anyone rest. It's provoking, Papa.”

Then Aunt Arleth was there, hissing as close to his ear as she could get that the
girl
he'd had to marry was giving
everyone
orders and ruining
everything,
and what was he going to do about it? It lacked but Serena, and she made her entrance in the next minute.